


The Sorcerer and the Stones

by writtenthroughtime



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Originally Posted on Tumblr, Outlander Anonymous Inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:57:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenthroughtime/pseuds/writtenthroughtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a conversation held with the lovely ladies of OA while watching episode 1.5  "Rent".  </p>
<p>Master Raymond centered story with a twist on his identity....</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sorcerer and the Stones

He knew, he always knew the moment one of them were born, when the spark of life and color filled their souls; his descendants. No matter what time he decided to live in he always knew when the universe expanded ever so slightly more to welcome the latest traveler. Some were filled with darkness, hate, greed, and envy, some were filled with light, hope, and selflessness, and others were filled with adventure, love, and wisdom—no matter what kind of personality formed he could always see and feel when their lives began, when they ended, and when they traveled.

Each of his offspring would go through the traveling process at least once in their lifetime. It would either lead to pain and suffering, life and love, or death. The moment the person was born a piece of his heart was pierced in a burst of recognition. Some created larger imprints than others, the ones that would become powerful or even had extra abilities. He could remember and recount each and every child when from the moment they were conceived to the moment they died.

Only on special days, and for special descendants did he make himself known; always disguising himself as a guardian, mentor, friend, or relative. They were the ones who would continue his work, forever travel, and find their true love in a time in whence they were not born. One such special exception sat behind him, stubbornly kicking at the seat of the automobile.

Raymond could not help but smile as he looked back at the unknowing face of the girl who will be the start of his greatest legend. She would be the catalyst that would bring about many prophecies and become a healer of legend herself. Her offspring will sire children of a new age, a new power. Two of his own descendants coming together whose blood will also be mixed with another deep magic will create the strongest travelers known, he even believed, more powerful than he was.

There were moments he wished he could speed up the timeline or hop to when the moment of change would take root, but he made a vow that he could not break. For now he would be who she needed him to be and he would wait.

The years passed in a blur and also all together too slowly for his patience. Day by day he educated his child in different arts and ways of living. Taught her the ways of the cultures from long ago, horseback riding, building and maintaining fires, how to find water, dig a latrine, and how to identify helpful and harmful plants. The child grew into a woman of grace and sophistication. She had caught the eye of a man Raymond knew to be a reincarnation of many previous men—only one that he knew to be a kind man—since she also seemed to reciprocate the desire he could only hope that this was also a kind iteration.

War, carnage and destruction were not new to Raymond, this time though he had something to lose. No matter what happened the timeline could not be disrupted and he could not lose the one thing that would bring peace, her. She was woven so integrally into the past and the future he could not let her die. The moment the war started it was clear she was going to do everything in her power to help. Raymond did what had to be done, feigning his own death he was able to protect her, be at the front lines with her and assure her safety.

Right before the war ended he made a visit to her husband and planted a seed into his mind. He knew the man had indeed been kind, yet a spiteful and deceitful man, but always kind in his own way; Raymond hoped that he would do the one thing he asked and take her to where she belongs, send her to Scotland.

The morning of Beltane came, he saw her from the other side of the stones. She was completely enthralled by the sight of the druids. Leaving a piece of himself by the stones he knew she would come back for it and then she would go home.

He was right of course, she came back for the flower. He heard the buzzing the moment she arrived and watched as her entire demeanor changed and she approached the stone.

As his girl touched the stones he could hear the sweet child he raised giggling and calling out to him…

“Uncle Lamb! Look at this one! What does it mean? Who would have used this?”

“Well my dear Claire, that is a sword and if you look here at the handle you can tell it’s Viking!”

Brown curls bounced as his own whiskey eyes looked up at him in fascination. “Viking? But I didn’t think they lived in Scotland!”

“Oh but they did my little flower, they settled here as great warriors and that tradition has been passed down throughout the ages. There are but a few Highlanders now and of old that cannot claim some viking heritage.”

“Uncle Lamb?”

“Yes, my little flower?”

“What is our heritage?”

“That my girl is rooted deep in France and beyond. Perhaps when you’re older I’ll take you to where we are from and show you some of the ways of the people there.”

“Oh! I would like that very much! Thank-you, Uncle Lamb, I love you…”

Her childish voice drifted off into the distant recesses of his mind and a new memory surfaced. One of his Claire pregnant and happy walking into a little shop in Paris.

“Mustard and thyme. In walnut oil, I think, but what did you use to make it nasty?” She observed. He couldn’t help smiling and thinking he taught her well.

“Ah, so your nose is not purely decorative, madonna! The black stuff is the rotted pulp of a gourd. As for the smell…well, that actually is blood.”

“Not from a crocodile,” my little flower stated rather than asked.

“Such cynicism in one so young! The ladies and gentlemen of the Court are fortunately more trusting in nature, not that trust is the emotion that springs immediately to mind when one thinks of an aristocrat. No, in fact it is pig’s blood, madonna. Pigs being so much more available than crocodiles.”

See my little flower, my promise was kept. I promised I’d take you to where we can trace some roots and show you the lives of how the people before lived. I’m sorry for the pain you’re about to go through my flower, but you will never regret the powers that brought you to your soul.


End file.
